


Kiss me goodbye (but don't go yet)

by Lorerei



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorerei/pseuds/Lorerei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's still raining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss me goodbye (but don't go yet)

It starts to rain and the forest sings with falling droplets, quiet murmur like a lullaby. The sound fills the void growing in her mind. It’s quiet otherwise, peaceful, and they are alone at last. Bellamy’s face, caked with mud and blood, hovers above her. His eyes, so dark, _earthy_ , are kind. He always looks at her in that way – as if she’s some kind of intricate riddle, mystery impossible to solve, but not this time. She likes that. She likes how warm his hands feel. Her body is shutting down, temperature dropping rapidly with blood loss, but Bellamy’s hands – one under her heart, where the spear hit, and the other holding her wrist – keep her warm.

Clarke doesn’t want to go. She fought for her life valiantly, so many times before, and she can’t help but feel a little bit tricked now. It’s all in vain, she thinks. But I don’t want to go. Only when Bellamy squeezes her hand and leans closer, she realises she said it aloud.

“No, Clarke, no. You are not going anywhere,” he blinks rapidly. “I won’t let you, Princess”.

He looks at her with wild intensity but also somehow pleadingly, raindrops trickling down his cheeks. Or tears, she thinks wistfully. It would be nice to have someone crying after you, and Bellamy is all she has left.

“Okay, Bell. If you say so,” her voice sounds so weak now, strange to her own ears. It hits her then, the finality of it all. She is dying and this time there is no saving; no way to stop the blood from seeping into her clothes and dribbling between Bellamy’s fingers. No way to fix her.

He huffs in response and brings his right hand to her hair. Trying to comfort her, maybe. Pointless but it feels nice, his fingers caressing her face, stroking her curls. She kisses his hand and hopes he gets the message. It’s _thank you_ , it’s _I’m sorry_ , it’s _I wish we had more time_. Clarke doesn’t feel like speaking, hates her trembling voice and wouldn’t find the right words anyway. Bellamy’s face crumples, his breathing becomes erratic and he just looks at her, eyes wide and filled with fear and sorrow.

_Good one, Clarke. Way to go._

She thinks about what was and what could be. She regrets not kissing, not _having_ Bellamy, regrets not touching him the way she always wanted, from the very beginning, before she knew how to label that feeling. No future for them together. Bitter taste of disappointment stings her tongue. Then she remembers Finn, their first and only night together. That beautiful boy with innocent eyes and candid heart – where is he now?  Dead, like her? Gone? It’s been weeks since she they last saw him. Dead, she thinks, and pain much deeper and more acute than the sharpest spear hollows her heart. Familiar faces come and go, already hazy. Pictures from the past seem to be so impossibly unreal – Octavia laughing, with head thrown back and wind dancing in her hair; Monty and Jasper bend over a cauldron full of moonshine; Raven’s eyes, big and serious when she stares at flickering fire; stars reflected in Wells’s eyes –

Bellamy kisses her. His lips are hot and wet and salty – so he _is_ crying – and it’s hardly a kiss. He’s saying her name over and over again, desperately like it’s a prayer _: Clarke, Clarke, Clarke_ , and he _knows_ , and their lips brush together, his hot lips and hot hands keeping her warm and anchored.

She smiles against his lips.

It’s still raining. And then it’s not.

 


End file.
